


Black Flowers Blossom, Fearless on My Breath

by cupcakentea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Shotgunning, also a tiny bit of, i mean they say it once, kind of ?, we're only talking cigarettes here for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12103575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakentea/pseuds/cupcakentea
Summary: Harry is lying on the bed, hair spilling on the wine sheets, pink mouth agape, his half-closed eyes a window to the fever that’s consuming him. His arms lay by his sides, one hand clutching the duvet, fingers visibly shaking from where Louis stands, the other palm up, opened, like he’s holding an infinite of invisible worlds. His black blouse has ridden up, the black lace contrasting with the milky skin underneath, dotted here and there with beauty spots and freckles, soft against the bold lines of the tattoos jutting out of his trousers. His chest is heaving, expiring arousal in the room.He’s the debauched twin of Millais’ Ophelia.Louis and Harry shotgun in public, a very private moment ensues





	Black Flowers Blossom, Fearless on My Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came to the world because of the "she makes her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes" line in Kiwi. My very own experience of paying £10 for my pack had me thinking that Harry clearly steals other people cigarettes and doesn't know the reality of buying a pack because £10 is NOT CHEAP.  
> Obviously I can’t prove any of that yet.
> 
> It led to shotgunning and smut I'd say I'm sorry but really I’m not.
> 
> English is not my first language and this is unbeta'ed so all grammar/spelling mistakes are mine please do tell me if you find some or think that I missed a tag I'll be infinitely grateful.
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this fic and me going back to writing to [Objectlesson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson) whose fics and general amazingness as a human being have done so much for me in the past few months. You've brought so much joy, hope and love into my life and i'm forever grateful for the safe space you constantly provide.  
> I really hope you'll like this one.

The room is dark and a bit crowded like always in a party at Nick’s, but Louis can still discern Harry’s silhouette prancing around the flat, going from one small group to another. He left him a moment ago to look for something to smoke, without even thinking to ask Louis himself.

Louis has seen him in action more than once, knows his modus operandi by heart. Always getting what he wants with the bat of long eyelashes, Harry will just pluck a cigarette out of someone’s pack before they even have time to pick one themselves. Then, he’ll smile, teeth on display, kiss their cheek and skip away after slipping a pleased “thank you”.

Sober Harry is Louis’s princess. Drunk Harry is his spoiled brat. 

Tonight, however, he seems to be a fruitless one, as Louis can still see him, right hand in his hair and a frown on his brow and no cigarette in sight. Louis snorts a laugh and ducks his head.

Feeling eyes on him, he smirks and pulls his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, almost putting it on display in the half-light where they stand. He opens the lid one-handed and lowers his head once more to pluck a cigarette straight from the pack with his teeth. Lifting his face up, he stares directly at Harry standing a few meters from him, mouth slightly agape, his gaze burning with intent. He watches him move, reduce the small distance between them to centimetres, openly staring at Louis’s mouth wrapped around the end of the cig, utterly fascinated.

 

Louis has the upper hand.

 

“Would you be so kind ?” Louis mutters around the tip when Harry has finally reached him. Harry’s hands appear, already cupped around a lighter clutched between his fingers. Lighting up his cigarette, Louis inhales the smoke slowly, closing his eyes and savouring the burn in his throat. It feels like the dark cloud reaches even his brain, making everything thick and hazy. Looking slit-eyed at his boyfriend’s features, Louis lets the smoke out, blowing it purposefully to Harry’s face, provoking.

“Lou please. Give me one” Harry pouts, the childlike expression on his face only broken by the intensity of his gaze.

“Make me” Louis responds, inhaling once more.

He hears Harry’s whine above his own wicked chuckle, above the loud bass of the music, above the mass of people surrounding them. It makes him laugh even more, something in his stomach awakening from the rush of power this little game gives him.

Harry’s eyes search his face, looking for a sign of acceding. But Louis has something specific in mind, thinking “I wanna rile you up… I wanna take your breath away”. Taking a long drag of the cigarette, he lets the smoke settle down in his lungs. Then, resting his hands and back on the table behind him, putting his body on display, head tilted, he grins, eyes alive with mischief.

“Well come on then” he coaxes, feeling the power rushing through his veins, straight to his brain, making him dizzy.

And it works. Harry closes in, filling the space in so slowly, so carefully time might have well stopped, eyes constantly darting between Louis’s and his slightly chapped lips. He stops just a breath short of touching them, staying very still, mouth agape. Waiting.

 

“Good boy” Louis exhales, right before blowing the smoke right into Harry’s parted lips. He feels him breathing in, taking in with it the thick air between them. Inhaling Louis. Inhaling whatever Louis will give him. It makes Louis’s gut squirms.

Like magnets, they join and lock lips, mouths heavy with the taste of tobacco. Louis feels the need to bite down on the plushness of Harry’s bottom lip and does just that, pulling away a bit, dragging it between his teeth. He chuckles gleefully, filled with the knowledge that he’s driving Harry insane. 

He tries to lean away then, but Harry’s fist comes up, clutching at Louis’s navy jumper and bringing him back to him, their bodies crashing down into each other once more. Puffs of laughter on moist mouths, Louis is giggling still. Until he feels a lick at his lips and teeth biting down and then he stops laughing altogether, his hands coming up to cup Harry’s face, stifling a moan in Harry’s wetness. They lose themselves in the warmth of their mouths, soft silky sounds birthed from their union. Louis thumbs at Harry’s jaw, carefully caressing the skin pulled taut above the bone while Harry tries to devour him alive. It’s frenetic and obscene, the way Harry tongues his way inside Louis’s mouth, hot and slick like syrup. And Louis tries to calm him down, to peck the fever away.

 

“Don’t wind yourself up, my love” he murmurs against his boyfriend’s lips, prayer-like. And Harry just whines in answer, burying his face in Louis’s neck. He feels a breath on his skin, a soft “Lou” whimpered in his skin, and he closes his eyes at the sound because he just knows that this right there is his baby trying not to lose his grip, while Louis himself is barely hanging by his fingernails.

He hears long inhales, deep and dragged out and... Harry is smelling him. “You smell so good Lou” he chokes out, pleading, nose travelling up to rest behind his ear and nuzzle the spot. “You smell like sweat, and smoke… and me” and there’s a tongue licking, soft and insistent and unstoppable. “Taste so fucking delicious. I can’t even think”. And Louis’s thoughts just spiral right out of his brain because that’s it. They’re fucked, both as far gone as the other. His head is getting foggy, everything turning sluggish.

“Baby, Haz” Louis stutters “we need to stop - baby we’re in public”. Right as the words leave his lips, he shuts his eyes firmly, thinking “I should know better” and “this is the stupidest sentence of your life Tommo” because the mewl Harry lets out at the words dooms him. He feels Harry grinding down on his thigh, suddenly crazed with need and completely, utterly lost.

 

“Fuck, Hazza”

 

“Please yes”

 

It’s like a punch to the gut, two words that cut through the tension between them to make the air crackle, to lit it on fire and Louis’s brain shuts down. He grabs at the expanse of Harry’s back, hands travelling to cup his ass and pull up, forcing Harry to bear down harder, and the noise it elicits, broken and so very needy just opens the gates to heaven. Arousal floods him, blood rushing south, making him harden against Harry’s thigh. He grows more desperate, in par with the beautiful creature writhing against him, almost in his lap now and really Harry’s dedication to carving himself a place inside Louis is admirable. What wrecks Louis, though, is the noises that spill out of his mouth, high-strung and breathy, like Harry is choking on his need to give himself to Louis. That clears out his head for a second, enough to remember where he is, and no, no one is seeing Harry like this but him. This sight, this lovely, lovely sight is his, and his alone.

 

“Hazza, baby, I’m not taking you in Nick’s living room with half of London’s scene watching” he slurs against the shell of Harry’s ear, who just sobs in answer, his painted fingernails scratching at Louis’s jumper, trying to dig into his shoulders. Louis shushes him, hands soothingly carding through Harry’s hair, caressing the distress away. “Sweetheart, where’s the guest bedroom ?” Louis inquires, and Harry hiccups, finally detaching his head from Louis’s neck. He looks a mess: face flushed and blotchy, green eyes wet with frustrated tears, deeper than a stormy ocean, lips bitten raw, pinker than a sunset cloud. “He’s mine,” Louis thinks “he’s mine and I’m gonna ruin him”.

Harry tugs on Louis’s hands and turns around, leading them through the drunken crowd, bodies pressing around them. He never stops, intent on his destination, and Louis just stares at his now shorter hair, thinking of yanking the strands and making Harry kneel on the spot. But then they stop, standing in front of a door, and Louis crowds Harry against it, breathing heavily while Harry fumbles with the doorknob, unable to pry it open.

Wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist, he sing-songs “Baby boy, if you don’t hurry, I’m gonna have to fuck you against the door” and just as planned Harry’s knees buckle on an inhale and he lets out a violent sound, like he’s burning alive, being burned alive. The door clicks open and they stumble in, slamming it behind them. 

Louis turns around, slides the lock in place and closes his eyes, trying to bring forth a sense of focus and clarity in his mind. He’s bursting at the seams, already on the verge of breaking down.  Louis sighs, one hand flat on the wood, pulls his jumper above his head, letting it drop soundlessly on the floor, and spins around. Brought straight back to the edge again.

 

Harry is lying on the bed, hair spilling on the wine sheets, pink mouth agape, his half-closed eyes a window to the fever that’s consuming him. His arms lay by his sides, one hand clutching the duvet, fingers visibly shaking from where Louis stands, the other palm up, opened, like he’s holding an infinite of invisible worlds. His black blouse has ridden up, the black lace contrasting with the milky skin underneath, dotted here and there with beauty spots and freckles, soft against the bold lines of the tattoos jutting out of his trousers. His chest is heaving, expiring arousal in the room. 

He’s the debauched twin of Millais’  _ Ophelia _ .

 

"Oh, Hazza look at you. You're such a pretty, pretty mess" Louis slurs out, drunk on the sight that lays before his eyes, “a goddamn masterpiece” he coos, and the comment has Harry crying out. His body begins writhing on the sheets, slowly grinding down on nothing as tears spill from his eyes and needy sounds from his red-bitten lips. His boy knows better than to touch without permission.

 

Louis cups himself through his jeans, eyes half closing at the touch and groans “Look, princess, look how hard you make me baby” and he hears Harry’s choked gulp, knows he’s already salivating, his gaze resting on Louis’s groin, burning, longing. Louis is more turned on than humanly possible.

He moves, marching towards the bed and stopping right at the edge to kneel. Harry’s head shoots up as he falls silent, staring at Louis with a sea of green, the perfect incarnation of patience on the surface. But Louis sees the ripples, sees the cracks on the mask. He reaches out to ruck Harry’s trousers up his legs, slow and steady. Then, Louis plants his fingernails in Harry’s ankles, pulls him down to him and buries his aching teeth in the meat of Harry’s calf, groaning around the flesh. Harry’s back arcs prettily against the sheets and he shouts, loud and unabashed and so wrecked already it might as well be their second round.

 

Louis frees his jaw and licks at the indents he just left, shushing Harry while his hands run up and down his legs, caressing, reassuring. He can taste Harry’s pulse under his tongue, and he knows his own heart echoes it, rabbiting against his ribs.

“Lou” Harry sobs out, almost choking, his throat closing around the want and how did Louis get so lucky. “I’m right here baby… I’ve got you” he pants, lapping a trail up Harry’s left leg, tasting the desperation on Harry’s sweat, the salty flavour bursting on his buds. Louis skips Harry’s crotch, the tented material of his trousers, and resumes his journey right in the middle of the laurels framing Harry’s groin. There he devours, sucks at the skin, leaving purple bruises blooming in his wake. While his fingers work Harry’s blouse open, he mouths at the dewy hair of Harry’s happy trail, tongue twirling aimlessly, starving for the pure taste of Harry. His smell surrounds him, renders him powerless to the hunger. “So good, doll… best thing I’ve ever had my mouth on” and that breaks Harry’s litany of moans. His boy laughs, short and bright, and Louis is smiling too, forehead resting on Harry’s tummy, finally able to catch his breath.

 

“Lou, I’m the only thing you’ve ever had your mouth on” Harry beams, and Louis should have seen it coming. “Technically, that’s not true” he counters, kissing up Harry’s torso gently, softer than a feather, a gentle smirk on his face. And Harry’s dimples are on display, two small craters that make Louis’s world go around. “May I remind you we’ve decided Hannah didn’t count, and drunkenly kissing Niall once doesn’t either” Harry chuckles, his eyes crinkling up in delight, like he wasn’t on the edge of losing himself mere seconds ago. Pushing himself on his forearms, Louis comes face to face with his boy, smiling up at him like he holds the goddamn sun and maybe the moon and all the stars too. “Alright, but for your knowledge, if they counted, they wouldn’t even begin to compare to you, my pretty princess” and the gentle break is worth suspending time for the content way Harry’s lips pull up, eyes shining bright with mirth and adoration. Louis pecks his nose, and his cheeks, and his forehead, and his chin, all while listening to Harry’s lovely mouth spilling giggles in the air around them. 

 

He sits down then, right in Harry’s lap, on Harry’s dick and Harry’s eyes go wide, lips parting on a soft gasp that has the atmosphere tensing again, slowly but surely. Louis takes his time, eyes drowning in Harry’s lovely face. “One day love, I’ll stare at you so long I’ll forget about breathing,” he states “and to be honest, I wouldn’t even mind”. Something must show in his tone, something fierce and wild and famished, because it has Harry dropping his head against the pillow and opening his legs wider, like an invitation Louis won’t refuse. Ever.

Louis brings one of Harry’s hand to his mouth, aware of Harry’s unwavering eyes on him. He noses at the paper thin skin of his wrist and if he focuses hard enough, he can smell faint notes of leather there, a sweet reminder of last night’s activities. He shivers, his skin erupting in goosebumps, and grinds down on Harry’s groin. Harry’s breath rushes out on a loud exhale and his hips respond, chasing up the feeling of Louis’s firm cock against him. Louis nibbles at the palm mindlessly, creating torturously good friction between them by rubbing his arse back and forth, building the rhythm of his dance on the melody of Harry’s moans. It’s electric, and Louis thinks that if he opened his eyes, he could see the room basked in a dark yellowish glow, a thunderstorm brewing in the sky. He shivers and reaches back with his right hand to grab one of Harry’s ankle, slowly opening his eyelids to revel in the view of him, two blue stones feasting on Harry’s exposed body.

 

“Princess, tell me what you want… Please tell me, whatever you want, Hazza” Louis urges, pressing down hard on Harry’s cock, left hand thumbing at his stiff nipple.

Harry whines, sounding pained “I don’t know… I don’t… Louis” and his hands raise up to Louis’s hips, just shy of touching because even now he’s being so, so good, Louis’s good boy. “I don’t know just… Use me”.

Louis feels his stomach plummeting, his heart and lungs and every organ dropping far further than his feet. His ears are ringing and he dives in. 

 

Fingers scratching up from Harry’s foot, red trails his marks of possession, he reaches forward, trying desperately to open Harry’s slim trousers. Two hands join him and he growls, slapping them away hard. “Haven’t told you you could touch did I, baby boy ?” he slurs, steel gaze pinning Harry down and Harry closes his eyes, chastised and aroused and on the brink of desperation again, a harsh and heavy breath escaping his body. 

“I’m sorry” he whimpers “I’m sorry I’m sorry I-” and truly he’s exquisite so Louis can only reach for the damp back of Harry’s neck, pulling himself down to lick the salt on the junction between nape and shoulder and whisper “That’s okay baby, you’re good… so, so good” while his nimble fingers work the stubborn button open and the zipper down. “You remember your word, baby ?” he asks, glancing up to see Harry nodding vigorously. “You use it or stop me whenever, alright ?” and Harry drawls a quiet “Yes”. Louis wastes no time in reaching inside, his hand wrapping around Harry’s dick while he pants burning breaths in the shell of his ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth. 

His princess is so warm and slick and wet, so ready for him already and he’s then reminded of how long it’s been since the cigarette, how long it’s been since he’s started riling his baby up. “You’re so wet, pet, so fucking sweet and sloppy for me already - so eager for me to take you however I want, to use you however I want… The very best, my good, good boy” Louis praises, his fingers slowly rubbing Harry over the moist fabric of his underwear and he is mewling so loud, like a hungry kitten, his face tilted back and slack with abandon. He trusts him so much it should be scary, but instead, it just fuels the furnace inside Louis’s heart. 

 

Taking his hands out of Harry’s pants to the latest’s loud protest, Louis lets his hands travel torturously slow down the expanse of body under him and end their journey on Harry’s thighs. He grabs them to push himself lower, kneeling on the sides of his calves, head right above Harry’s dick. Then, he mouths at the fabric of his trousers, making everything more damp, more warm, more unbearable, and Harry’s mindless movements go frantic, looking for any form of release. Louis pins down Harry’s hips with one arm, Harry’s legs with his own, and continues his task, lathing his tongue on the fine line between Harry’s pubic hair and the elastic of his briefs. He lets his teeth graze the clothed cock, the brush barely there but enough to drive Harry even madder, to bring him to the brink of explosion without being enough to truly push him. Harry makes a broken sort of noise, something so strung-out and feverish, like a panicked sob, it has Louis sitting back on his haunches and pulling both Harry’s trousers and underwear in one movement, freeing both legs and feet of the clothes.

 

“Please Lou - please please please I can’t anymore I can’t” Harry raggedly begs, tear tracks marking his cheeks and Louis reaches out, wiping the dampness away.

“I’ve got you, beautiful- I’ve got you I’m not letting go” Louis lets out in a strangled breath, voice thick with awe and emotion “Gonna make you feel so good, baby”. He hooks Harry’s naked legs on his shoulders, both bent at the knees and there it is, dark pink and so utterly pretty, lodged in between Harry’s creamy cheeks. He thumbs at Harry’s opening, caressing and admiring, and listens to Harry’s keens. “So responsive baby, always loud, always sensitive… I love it so much- love you so much Harry” and when he looks up there are fresh tears on his boy’s face, travelling down to a content smile. Harry knows, he knows he’s getting what he wants, he knows he’s making Louis proud.

 

“Love you too Lou” Harry croaks, voice used and barely there. Louis looks down once more and starts talking again “You don’t even know baby I swear. You don’t even know how gorgeous you are, how -” he cuts off, Harry’s hole opening around his thumb, swallowing him in “perfect, so fucking hungry already, Haz you want it so bad” and Louis ducks down to lick a stripe on Harry’s hole that has him crying out with a broken voice. He wants to ravish him, to devour him until the only thing he can taste is the sweet tang of Harry’s arse, the flesh of his cheeks surrounding him. 

He feels Harry’s legs spasming on his shoulders, his toes curling like they always do when he’s rimming him, and Louis just closes his eyes and hums, making Harry shout again. He swirls his tongue around, smoothing over the pucker of Harry’s opening, wanting to make everything deliciously wet, wanting to suffocate in the warm embrace of Harry’s thighs. “Taste so perfect, I could eat you out for hours, make you come on my tongue again and again and... fuck… again until you just can’t take it anymore”. He sucks then, loud and lewd, and he can’t get enough of Harry’s taste, or Harry’s noises, or Harry’s smell, stronger there than anywhere else, wants to crawl inside him and stay there forever. 

 

He shushes Harry’s pleas with his left hand, pushing two fingers inside his mouth for him to suck on and he does it so well, enveloping him in a sloppy furnace, pliant and gagging for it. Louis’s tongue pokes out, playing, teasing, and finally sliding in Harry’s hole, allowing himself to access what he’s been yearning for. He knows he’s indulging himself, licking at the velvet of Harry’s walls while his baby tries to fuck himself on his tongue, moaning and grinding down to open himself further. Louis’s right hand clutches Harry’s thigh so strongly he knows he’s leaving marks behind and it makes him so genuinely happy he’s delirious with it, pushing in and out of Harry’s hole, mouth soft. 

With one last lick, Louis raises his head a bit and spits, wanting everything slick and silky, dripping. He sits back, resting on the back of his heels and stares openly, eyes roaming from Harry’s hole to his cock that’s straining so hard it touches his tummy, making a pearly mess of precome on his skin, to finish on his face, a dazed expression marking his features, a floatiness behind his eyes.

 

“Do it… come on, Daddy” Harry murmurs and Louis fumbles with his own jeans, pushing them to his knees and pulls Harry by his hips, soft and supple and giving under him. He lines his dick up with Harry’s crack and pushes in, suddenly drowning in warm, bare flesh and slick skin and the knowledge that he made it that way has him snapping his hips harder, tip brushing behind Harry’s balls. He is pumping, sliding himself in and out of Harry’s slippery thighs which are shaking with the exertion of being kept close together, so incredibly tight around Louis, for Louis to take and use. It’s almost too good : the wet friction, the soft kiss of Harry’s balls on his slit, the noises that escape from the pretty pink lips. He’s losing it, fucking Harry’s thighs - and the realisation makes his stomach tighten, incredibly fast and violent. He’s thrusting one more time, coming on Harry’s crease, spurting white ribbons that add to the mess on Harry’s fluttering hole.

 

Louis looks down at the obscene display and reaches out with his fingers, mixing his saliva and semen together. Coating his index and middle finger with it, he pushes down and feeds them to Harry’s opening, twisting them, searching for the spot that will break his princess down. Harry is already panting, so close Louis can almost taste it, and when Harry squeaks, he knows he’s found it and rubs down, relentless and purposefully, reducing Harry to a squirming and blabbering mess. He watches with rapt attention Harry’s rapid undoing on his hand, gorging himself on the spectacle. It makes his vision blur, how Harry just parts around his digits, split open, urging him inside with frantic rolls of his hips, searing velour closing around Louis’s fingertips.

There’s an urgency coursing through Louis’s blood, and staring straight in the green of his eyes, he thumbs at the hollow of Harry’s throat, pressing down steadily. “My good boy, my princess” he whispers, reverent, and Harry is coming with Louis’s name on his lips, eyes tightly shut, breathing suspended; coming so hard he spasms for a long moment, shooting between their bodies so far it reaches Louis’s fingers still resting around his neck. He breathes in again, a half-choked sound, erratic and awed. And Louis is with him, peppering kisses on his face, fingers still buried deep in his body, feeling the aftershocks of Harry’s orgasm rippling through him like an earthquake. 

When the tremors die down, Louis pulls out, fingers sticky and numb. He wipes them on his jeans before taking them fully off. Then, ever so slowly, he reaches down with one hand to cup Harry’s face, the other aimlessly caressing whatever skin he can touch.

 

“Baby, you’re with me ?” he inquires, not worried yet but still mindful, still careful. There’s no need to be this time, as Harry opens his eyes, a smile blooming on the petal of his lips. 

“Hmm hmm” he responds, nursing the quiet, serene atmosphere that has fallen between them. It has Louis beaming and coming up to kiss him square on the mouth, pleasant and feather-like. Everything is subdued around them, basking in the afterglow. Louis gently moves Harry’s limbs so that he rests on his side, unhurriedly getting rid of his blouse, and lay down beside him, both facing each other.

“I adore you.” It slips off his tongue like an oath in their cocoon, the music booming in the living room distant but still discernible.

“Feeling’s quite mutual” Harry drags out with a smile, eyelids already drooping, hands resting on Louis’s chest sleepily closing around nothing.

Louis wraps one arm around his boy, hand burying itself in the soft strands of his hair, and pecks the skin of Harry’s forehead, a sweet protection for his dreams.

Feeling his own eyes shutter, Louis last waken thoughts go to his cigarettes lying on the ground with his jeans, probably all crushed beyond saving. He grins, smug, and joins Harry in his sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ! If you liked it consider reblogging the [tumblr post](http://cupcakentea.tumblr.com/post/165381613660/black-flowers-blossom-fearless-on-my-breath-4366) or [saying hi](http://cupcakentea.tumblr.com/)?
> 
> Title from Massive Attack - Teardrop


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